


Prelude

by Birdgirl



Series: The Astounding Life of Hamish Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdgirl/pseuds/Birdgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to The Astounding Life of Hamish Holmes:<br/>About Hamish Holmes:<br/>Sherlock/John established relationship. Sherlock spontaneously decides that he would like to raise a child with Watson. It can be assured, parenthood is certainly not boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> How Sherlock and John got to be married, and other delightful shenanigans.  
> This is just the beginning.

Detective Inspector Lestrade motioned to the body. "Her name is Maria Giordano. We found her in the street this Tuesday morning. Normally, we would have just told it off as one of those happenstance tragedy things, until we found her ID. According to this, she isn't even from England. She wasn't even going to England. The plane ticket in her purse says she was going from the Rome airport to somewhere in Germany."

"Just, somewhere? Somewhere in Germany." John looked confused.

"Well, it's…" he dug something out of his pocket- a plastic bag- and took out a plane ticket. "Now, I took French back in school- don't judge me when I say I can't read this. It's German, for God's sakes- how anyone can pronounce anything in that language is beyond me."

"Really, Lestrade, I'm surprised." Sherlock makes a shocked face, and John tries not to laugh. "Can't you tell, she was on her way to the Dusseldorf-Mochengladbach Airport in North Rhine-Westphalia."

John can't help but give a little snort at how nonchalantly the consulting detective switched languages, until Sherlock turned to him with a look of seriousness that suggested he was really thinking about the body.

Lestrade had a bit more to say. "Her recent phone messages are in Italian, and despite my having abandoned Romance languages, oh, 30 years ago or something, I was able to read that she was meeting her sister, and that she was upset with her husband. Something about "Natale", which I think means Christmas."

Sherlock nods, and turns to his partner. "Well, John, you're a doctor. Do your thing. Tell me what you see." he says, motioning to the dead woman the same way a math teacher would motion to a problem drawn up on the board. It was a way that suggested that he had already figured out the answer, or nearly just, and just wanted John to figure it out on his own. It was a loving gesture, for Sherlock.

John cleared his throat. "Well…" he started. "The scratches on her face indicate that she had a bad fall. I don't think someone hit her. There's trauma to the skull, but she might have just hit her head on the payment when she fell. She looks like she must have been running from something, then just, sort of… well, it looks like she died on the spot, actually. But not from her injuries. Have you done a blood test yet?" John turns to the Detective Inspector. He just shrugs.

"Yeah, it's protocol, but Sherlock normally solves it before the tests get back anyways." True enough.

"John." It's the start of a question. "Why do you think that a blood test is necessary?"

"Well, I dunno, she might have been poisoned, or something?" John was never sure where Sherlock wanted him to go with these things. Didn't always know what he should say.

"Good, good. I thought so, too." John looked up, pleasantly surprised. That there was the Sherlock equivalent of a complement- somebody was feeling good today.

"However, you are wrong on one count." Of course, Sherlock excelled at the backhand complement. "Mrs. Giordano did not die on the spot. I think as a doctor you can tell that there was no heart attack, as I see no signs of cardiac arrest. There was no knife, no blunt object, no bullet. She was indeed poisoned."

Ah, here he goes. John's part was over. He played his role as Sherlock's skull well this time.

He went on. "From the clothes she is wearing we can tell that she probably just went through the Rome airport. She's not from the city. Worn out jeans, probably hand-me-downs. Calloused hands suggests she grew up on a farm, and tan suggests that she has recently been somewhere warm and sunny, like an island. From this we can tell that she was probably raised not in Italy but on one of the islands adjacent, like Sicily or Sardinia, where they have more farms and a decidedly more traditional Italian lifestyle. Her ring is dirty, meaning she hasn't cleaned it in a while- the state of her marriage right there. It's not a Christmas present that she is worried about, but rather the lack of one that may have upset her. Her husband is obviously some sort of businessman who works in the city, shown by how much cosmetics she is wearing. A woman of her background wouldn't wear that much makeup unless she had a cheap way of getting it. Therefore, her husband works in a cosmetics business, and gives her samples."

John wonders sometimes if Sherlock's just making things up, but he knows that's not possible. He couldn't possibly make all this up. He also wonders if he should start bringing bottles of water with them- How does Sherlock's mouth not get dry from all this talking? Of course, he couldn't argue- he loved when Sherlock got like this. Loved the thrill in his voice, the sparkle in his eyes. This was as close to having fun as Sherlock got, and John was happy for that. Sherlock was, of course, still talking.

"The two probably had a falling out when the husband neglected to remember to give her a Christmas present, though it was probably the degrading of their relationship that influenced Mrs. Giordano to consult her sister. Mr. Giordano also must have given her some new cosmetics, something rare from the Christmas season, seemingly trying to make up for his error. Maria's mistake was that though she was mad at him, she loved him enough to secretly use his present. A lipstick you'll find in her purse, that if you test I'm sure you will find it was laced with some poison akin to Mercury, or something equally lethal that could be absorbed through her skin into her bloodstream. Because she only spoke Italian, again because of her background, she may have boarded the wrong flight, took a hotel for the night, and died from the poisoning on the way back to the airport to retry her flight. I think you'll find, in conclusion, that it was the husband who killed his wife. Always tragic."

He said the last sentence with a smile, because in his opinion, this wasn't tragic at all. He had just solved a case. That brilliant, brilliant man, thought John, because surely this one was a record. There was no danger, no chase, just Sherlock and his wonderful, brilliant mind. Before he could stop himself, John took Sherlock by the cheeks, stood on his tip toes, and kissed his boyfriend.

They had, of course, been dating for almost a year now, but the softness of Sherlock's lips still surprised him every time and every time made his heart do a little bit of fluttering. They were warm, and wet, and always welcome. Sherlock smiled into the kiss, then pulled back with an almost stupidly happy look.

"Oi, you two, get a room." Lestrade's face was a little red, but if you were to tell him that he'd deny it. Those two were too cute for words- especially because he knew if he said that aloud he'd never live it down.

Sherlock smiled sneakily. "Not a bad idea. John, what do you say we go back to the flat now? No reason we can't have fun the rest of the day, too."

Anderson, hearing this, pulled a face. Donovan scowled at the couple. "Honestly, you two, get married already. Then at least your freakishness will be slightly acceptable."

"It still won't be acceptable." Anderson smirked, and Donovan suppressed a giggle. Sherlock shot them both a look, until his eyes widened, having seemingly remembered something. He turned back to John.

"I never thought I was going to say this, John, but Agent Donovan may be right."

'What? What is he talking about?' John thought and started to blush profusely at the realization. Sherlock was taking something out of his pocket, and getting down on one knee in front of John. This couldn't be happening, this… this was absolutely the wrong time to be doing this, at a crime scene, next to a dead body, in front of the yarders. But, John thought, that means that it couldn't be more perfect.

"John, ever since I met you, you have been the most interesting and relevant thing in my life. Sod the cases- without you there, there wouldn't be a point in solving them. No enjoyment. When I'm with you, my head isn't always clear, befuddling all my feelings for you and making my thinking disoriented. But I've found that it is worth the trouble, when you know it's all for the person you know you love more than anything in the world." He took a deep breath.

"John Hamish Watson, will you ma-"

He was cut off by John throwing his arms around him, pulling him into a long, deep kiss. Lestrade and a few of the other yarders whistled.

Sherlock pulled away, breathless. "So, that's a yes, then?"

"Brilliant Deduction." John replied. And Sherlock laughed, laughed loudly and eventually hysterically. John followed soon after, and they were both soon laughing uproariously, uncontrollably, rolling on the pavement and giggling at a crime scene. There was a dead body and a case and annoying agents and then Sherlock had proposed to John, and it was the best day of both of their lives.


End file.
